Aizawa Oneshots and More

Tension (NSFW)

HI GUYS IT'S CURRENTLY 4 IN THE MORNING!!! I'm getting so far in the anime, I literally sobbed during the war. Best Jeanist, the real MVP for dropping in unannounced. 

ANYWAYS (laughs nervously) I bring you guys some more food >:3c

Requested by aizawaix on Archive of Our Own! Thank you for the compliment, by the way, it means a lot to me <3

Fem! Reader x Aizawa --- enemies to lovers.

Happy eating and don't forget to request more from me :D

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The Public Safety Commission called it "an ideal collaboration." Two top-ranking heroes, working out of the same district but from different agencies, were to be partnered for a special task force initiative. One of them was Shota Aizawa – stoic, strategic, and famously blunt. The other? You.

A rising star in the hero world, you've built your agency from the ground up, earned respect, and carved a name for yourself without the need to ride anyone's ass. You're everything the PSC wanted: capable, charismatic, and popular with the public. Unfortunately, you're also everything Aizawa couldn't stand.

Too flashy, he had said. Too cocky. A showboater who relies too much on charm and not enough on discipline. You said he was a bitter stick-in-the-mud who couldn't handle anyone getting more spotlight than him.

Your first meeting went about as well as expected.

"You're late," Aizawa says, eyes half-lidded as you step into the meeting room.

"I'm fashionable," you reply coolly, tossing your coat onto a chair. "Sorry if that concept is foreign to you."

From the very first patrol debriefing, it's like flint and steel. Constant clashing, biting remarks, tension thick enough to choke.

The Commission didn't care how well you got along – they just want results. And between your instinctive heroism and Aizawa's tactical mind, the city is safer than ever. So the assignments keep coming. Patrols. Missions. Briefings. Late nights.

You didn't have to like each other. Just had to work together.

—

The hum of the vending machine is the only sound in the lounge when you walk in that morning. You take it as a small blessing; quiet moments at U.A. are rare, especially between classes. A mug of coffee already in your hand, you slide into the far corner of the room with a satisfied sigh, relishing the peace.

It doesn't last.

The door creaks open. The heavy, slow kind of creak that announces someone who doesn't care if they interrupt you. You don't look up.

Then comes the deadpan voice. Dry and tired. Immediately grating.

"You're in my seat."

Your eyes flick up.

Aizawa.

Of course.

"Funny," you reply without missing a beat, "I didn't see your name carved in it."

He doesn't blink. "It's the only chair that doesn't wobble."

"Oh no. A tragic inconvenience," you say, leaning back lazily. "Guess you'll have to sit in one of the six other chairs. You know, like a normal human being."

He steps further in, dragging his boots across the floor just enough to annoy you. The air feels colder when he passes by the coffee pot. Maybe it's him. Maybe it's your mood. He pours a cup in silence, then turns slightly to face you, mug in hand.